


Call Me When You're Sober

by hiikigane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically they don't realise they're falling for each other because they're idiots, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mutual Pining, Queenie saves the day, Sort of smut in the last chapter, self-indulgent as heck again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane
Summary: Having a roommate sucks when you're a socially awkward gamer/programmer starting your first year in college. It sucks even more when you're a studious, uptight senior who applied for a single room in the first place. But Credence and Percival learn to get along and with a little outside help, learn that being roommates can be pretty fun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to daemon_angelus for always indulging in my nonsense even though you don't know much about my fandoms :') this is a combination of my constant shitposting about how, in a modern setting, Credence would be a socially awkward gamer/memelord AND daemon_angelus's sly suggestion that "lots of things can happen when two people become roomies ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)", but in the end nothing actually happens because I wasn't confident in my abilities to write proper smut. It's a self-indulgent college AU because uni is stressing me out and I was procrastinating on my thesis.  
> Oh yeah I'm not American so most of my knowledge comes from popular culture and some cursory Googling, I'm sorry for inaccuracies.

          The icy silence in the backseat of their small Honda Civic was a stark contrast to the cheerful, sunny weather outside. Modesty glared at the blur of trees zipping past the window, the tinny sound of music audible through her earphones. Credence had tried to engage her in conversation a few times, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of whatever angsty pop-rock act was wailing into her ears, and when he did manage to catch her attention, she just turned away from him and cranked up the volume even more. She would probably go deaf before she turned twenty. Kids these days. Back when he was her age, he didn’t even _have_ a phone, let alone one with enough storage to hold all the albums and songs he had helped her transfer into the device when she first got it. Their foster parents had made a few half-hearted attempts to get her to turn down the music and listen to what Credence had to say, but she ignored them just as thoroughly as she was ignoring Credence, and he could tell they didn’t think it was worth pushing the issue. Besides, they were too happy to let her mood affect them.

        With any other set of foster parents, a more cynical person might have assumed they were happy that one of their foster kids was finally leaving for a prestigious private college, taking a huge burden off their backs. But Credence knew they were genuinely happy that he had managed to beat the odds and become more than just another ominous statistic of juvenile delinquency among foster children. He was (relatively) emotionally well-adjusted and (relatively) intelligent, or at least intelligent enough to enroll in the game design course at Ilvermorny University. Of course, it was hard to get into drugs or whatever constituted juvenile delinquency when he spent his weekends holed up in his room tinkering away at his own video game and watching playthroughs of other games, rolling his eyes at the commentary from time to time. He might not be particularly sociable, but game designers in general weren’t known for being the life of the party. He’d leave the gloss and sparkle to the marketing team.

           No, the only blip in the horizon was having to share a dorm with a complete stranger. His scholarship didn’t cover single rooms, and while his foster parents had assured him that they didn’t mind him living at home even though he was technically already eighteen, it had felt weird to be taking up space in the house when they might have to take in another foster child. He also didn’t want to waste time that could otherwise be spent on his games. This was Modesty’s main gripe with him— that he was choosing to live on campus when he could otherwise live at home.

          _“Our house is one and a half hours away from the school. That’s three hours of time spent travelling per day. If I have classes four days a week, it adds up to twelve hours of wasted time. And think how much money I’d have to spend on gas. If I lived on campus, I could save time and money. Besides, living away from home is part of the whole college experience.”_

_“Like you care about college experience!” Modesty was usually calm and good-natured, but when she got angry, she was a force to behold. Her temperament was remarkably similar to his, except in his case, he stayed quiet mostly because he didn’t know how to talk to people and most of the time, it just wasn’t worth getting angry about things. Credence didn’t know anything his real parentage—he’d been in the foster care system for as long as he could remember and Modesty had been transferred over to their current family when he was twelve and she was three—but he sometimes wondered if they were related. If his real parents, whoever they were, had somehow managed to have another child that was taken away from them and in a bizarre twist of fate, the system had placed two biological siblings under the same roof without knowing they were related. “You just want to spend more time in your room making models of fictional girls on your computer and jacking off to them!”_

_"Where did you hear such a thing?!” Credence had looked at her in horror. Since when did words like “jacking off” become a part of the vocabulary of nine-year-olds instead of things like “princess costume party”? What were they teaching in schools these days? Besides, he did_ not _jack off to fictional girls. Most of the protagonists of his stories were male._

_"You can jack off at home too, you know.”_

_“I_ don’t _jack off to fictional girls! And I’m serious, I’ll save a lot of time and money if I live on campus. When it’s your turn to go to college, you’ll want to live on campus so you can have more money to spend on other activities, like…”_

_“Like?”_

_“Uh.” Credence had been about to say something like “drinking and clubbing”, but he didn’t want to corrupt his sister, who was already much too worldly for her own good. He didn’t think he would be doing a lot of those things anyway, so it would just become more weapons for her arsenal. “Like saving up for things you really, really want to buy.”_

_“You’re not gonna be around for my birthday.” Suddenly, Modesty looked and sounded like the nine-year-old she was. “You probably aren’t even gonna buy me a present.”_

_“I can come home from campus, you know… I’m not moving to another planet.”_

_“But you said you wanted to save money.”_

_“Of course I can come back for special occasions.”_

_“I’m moving my stuff into your room.”_

_“Don’t you dare.”_

She’d stuck out her tongue at him, and that night, he’d found half of the clothes in his wardrobe missing, replaced by her skirts and dresses. They hadn’t discussed the issue since, and he had hoped that she would manage to come to terms with his leaving on her own. Obviously, she hadn’t, and now they were going to be parting on bad terms. Wonderful.

     An imposing-looking sign labelled with the school name and crest loomed into view. Beyond that, quaint, ivy-covered buildings sat along grassy verges. Credence tried to pick out the School of Computing but failed to find it. They continued down the road, passing some buildings that looked like faculty residences before finally reaching a sign that said WAMPUS HALL with an arrow pointing to the left. This would be his home for at least the next year.

      The dorms lacked the quiet beauty of the school buildings, but it wasn’t surprising that they were designed with practicality in mind, especially since hundreds of rambunctious undergraduates would be descending upon it in the upcoming days. The blocks were grouped around another huge grass plain overlooking a lake, which Credence supposed made for a better view than looking into someone’s window. A short distance away was a one-storey building with a sign that read HOUSING OFFICE/RECEPTION in front of it. He would have to pick up the keys to his room there.

      They got out of the car and started moving Credence’s luggage and boxes out of the trunk. He declined his foster mother’s offer to accompany him to pick up his keys and unpack, not wanting to leave a bad impression on his new roommate. Instead, they exchanged hugs. By the time Credence was released from his foster father’s arms and hesitatingly looking over at Modesty, unsure if she would punch him for trying, she had already wrapped her arms around his waist and was bawling into his shirt.

      “Hey,” he whispered. “I’m not dead, you know.”

      “B-but I’m going to m-miss you so much!”

     “You can text me anytime. We can even Skype. If I’d gone to college in…” he racked his brain for a far-off place, “Hawaii, we would have to work around time differences and it would be a lot harder for me to come home, even for holidays. But Ilvermorny’s just a short drive away. And you’re so busy and popular in school, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

      She pulled back from him. “Make sure you make friends and talk to actual human beings.”

      Normally, Credence would have sniped that he had plenty of online friends and unless Modesty didn’t count herself as an actual human being, he got more than enough practice talking to her, but this message was delivered in such a serious tone that he knew she was genuinely concerned about his well-being. “I have a roommate, so I’ll definitely be talking to him.”

    “I hope he’s nice.”

    “Me too.”

* * *

 

    “You need to leave. We’re closing up.”

    It took a while for Percival to focus on the face hovering over him. The librarian was scowling down at him, hands folded across her chest, and he could practically read her thoughts— _damn kids, the only time the library isn’t open twenty-four hours a day is during term break but the nerdy ones just refuse to leave and I can’t go home unless they leave too_. He didn’t want to spend what was left of the term break (about five days, if he remembered correctly) among shelves of musty books, but he had decided to take a special term over the break to do some independent study modules, and he really needed to finish his research paper. If he couldn’t finish it before term resumed, it would drag on through the semester and make it even harder for him to focus on his classes. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have taken a special term since it wasn’t like he was in danger of failing, but he had thought some independent study modules would look good on a law school application. That might have been the case, but now school was starting again and he hadn’t even had a proper break. He slid the books and laptop into his bag, moving as slowly as possible just to spite the librarian.

    On his way back to the dorms, his feet carried him past the frat house and he instinctively sped up, not wanting anyone to spot him. Most students had gone home over the term break, including most of the guys in the fraternity, and he had taken advantage of the quiet to crash at the house while doing his special term. That was the only time the place was ever quiet—it was usually nonstop partying and waking up to find the kitchen in a mess because someone had passed out while trying to cook something to satisfy their three a.m. cravings, as he had learned the hard way. He had liked the alcohol, found to his surprise that his thoughts flowed more smoothly, making it easier to write when he was slightly buzzed, but he wasn’t a fan of frat culture and had only joined because his father had been a member when he was in Ilvermorny. Percival had decided to take a chance with the dorms this semester, even though they were mostly occupied by freshmen. Freshmen generally fell into three categories—the type that was so ecstatic to be away from home for the first time in their lives they went absolutely crazy and ended up behaving like the frat boys, the type that had been coddled and spoiled their whole lives and as such were unused to being away from home, and the studious, scholarship type that probably didn’t enjoy sharing a room either. His roommate in freshman year had been Type #2, or so he’d thought because the guy was so bad at taking care of himself Percival had often found himself behaving like a fussy mother, nagging at Newt to get something to eat or to do his laundry because he’d been wearing the same pair of pants for a week and it was starting to stink up the room. But it turned out Newt was just odd that way and if Percival had to put him in one of those categories, it would be Type #3. Newt’s passion for animals was unrivalled, and apart from working really hard on his zoology major, he volunteered at animal shelters on weekends. Percival had spent a few weekends helping out at Newt’s insistence (for someone who was usually so meek, Newt could be very persistent when animals were involved) and actually managed to get a dog that had bitten every single handler that approached it to eat out of his hand. Overall, Newt had been an interesting experience, but Percival was done with sharing a room. He had applied for a single room and picked up the keys that morning. Most of his things were still over at the frat house, but he figured he could spend the night in the peace and quiet of his new room—the frat house was starting to fill up again with returning members—and he was so drained from spending the day poring over indecipherable books he didn’t mind sleeping on a sheetless bed for the night.

    The dorm he was living in this year was different from the one he had shared with Newt back in freshman year, but the layout was similar. Percival squinted at the number printed on his key in the dim light, decided that it wasn’t worth taking the stairs, and headed for the elevators. When it reached the eleventh floor with a small _ding,_ he strode towards the door labelled 11037 and let himself in, prepared to collapse onto the bed.

     But there were two beds, and there was already someone in one of them.

     _What the fuck?_


	2. Chapter 2

           That’s it. Percival had officially driven himself crazy. He was hallucinating an extra bed and for some reason, his imagination had decided to throw in another person. This was a single room. There shouldn’t be an extra bed or person here. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, sure that when he finally reopened them, he would be looking at the default single room as shown on the dorm website—a bed pushed up against the wall, a desk, a chair, a small shelf and cupboard. But when he reopened his eyes, the extra bed was still there, and more things seemed to have sprung into being. Two monitors and a laptop, all their screens showing a wallpaper that was, for some inexplicable reason, moving, crammed onto one of the desks. A keyboard and mouse, both emitting a sickly white glow, occupying the remaining desk space. A jacket flung over one of the chairs, two pieces of luggage jutting out from under the bed. He was in the wrong room, and he needed to get out of there before the person woke up.

          They must have given him the wrong set of keys. He would have to head all the way down to the reception building to bother someone about this. Percival heaved a gusty sigh, and the boy in the bed stirred and opened his eyes. _Shit, shit, shit, he’s awake…_

The boy had longish, curly hair that flopped into his eyes and splayed over one side of his pillow like a smooth, black waterfall. Percival couldn’t tell if the guy could actually see him, because he recognised the dazed expression as that of a person caught halfway between dreamland and reality. His gaze fell on a pair of thick, black-framed glasses resting next to the pillow. Great, he probably only registered as a blur in the guy’s vision. If they had the misfortune of running into each other on campus, he wouldn’t be recognised as the person who had barged into an innocent’s room while they were asleep and nearly squashed them flat while trying to collapse on the bed.

           “Are you my roommate?” The boy’s voice was still drowsy with sleep.

          “No, I’m not. This is all a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I didn’t mean to come in here and watch you sleep. I should go.” The words tumbled out of Percival’s mouth as he began backing towards the door.

         “Oh,” came the anticlimactic answer. Percival tripped over a box that he hadn’t noticed, and the resulting crash seemed to startle the boy into waking up fully. “Wait, who are you? What time is it?”

         “I’m _not_ your roommate, and it’s ten forty-eight p.m.” Even though this boy wasn’t going to be his roommate, Percival found himself trying to determine what type of freshman he was. It was still pretty early, but he didn’t look like the sort that was trying to catch up on sleep so he could party the night away. He might be the hapless, spoiled sort, because the boy had only unpacked a bare minimum of things, like bedsheets and his electronics. But it was too early to tell, and he wasn’t planning to stick around and find out.

        “ _Ten forty-eight_?” The boy leapt out of bed so abruptly that Percival started, sliding his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and settling into one of the chairs in front of his computer. “The stream starts at ten-fifty local time! You woke me up just in time!”

        “What the hell?” From barely awake to behaving like a kid on a sugar rush at the drop of a hat. He was starting to get Newt-like vibes from this boy, except his interests didn’t seem to be animal-related.

       The boy seemed to think that Percival’s rhetorical question required an answer. “It’s a stream by an indie game development company. They’re about to release a preview trailer for their game. I helped out with coding in the very early stages and haven’t checked back on their progress since then, because I’m not officially part of the development team. But if they’ve got a trailer ready, it must mean they have a release date in mind. Or maybe the trailer has been available to the people funding their Kickstarter for a while, and they’ve only just decided to make it public.”

       Percival only understood about half of that monologue. “Okay then. Whatever makes you happy. I’m going to go down to Reception and get the correct keys. I’d say I’m sorry for barging into your room, but you don’t seem very upset, so…”

       His voice trailed off. The boy didn’t seem to be listening at all, his fingers dancing over his glowing keyboard as he made his way to a site chock-full of video thumbnails, but certainly didn’t look like YouTube. He could probably march out of the room right there, but it seemed weird to have had an entire conversation with someone without learning their name. “What’s your name?”

       “Credence.” The boy was still staring intensely at his computer.

        A weird name for a weird boy. “Well, uh, I’m Percival. Good luck on your…Kickstarter, Credence. I’ll see you around. Or maybe not.”

        Clutching the keys tightly in his right hand, Percival beat a hasty retreat from the room.

* * *

 

       "There has to be some sort of mistake, I applied for a single room!”

        Percival was in a foul mood. The reception desk had been empty when he arrived, despite promising to be open twenty-four hours. He had waited impatiently, and when someone finally returned to the desk about forty minutes later, the woman had been unhappy at Percival from tearing her away from a night of binge-watching dramas on her phone. Finally, she deigned to look up his information on the system and informed Percival that he was registered as living in a double room with one Credence Barebone. The room number, 11037, matched too.

        “Nothing I can do about it. Maybe you applied wrongly.”

       “I did not,” Percival said stiffly. He hated to be _that_ person, the sort that believed the louder you spoke, the more likely you were to get your way, but this woman was really testing the limits of his patience. “I have a confirmation email. I’ll show it to you right now.”

       He took out his phone and started to log in to his school email. As his fingers fumbled over the keys, he had a sudden, inexplicable flash of Credence’s effortless typing and shook his head irritably. He was about to scroll down to the confirmation email when he noticed a new, unread email. Its contents made his blood run cold.

         “What is this?”

          “Hmm?”

       “Why did I get an email saying that I’m being moved to a double room because of space constraints, and if I don’t reply to this email by 5 August, I automatically agree to the transfer?”

           “Seeing as you just read the email to me, I think you understand what it says…”

           “But I applied for a _single room_!”

          The woman rolled her eyes. “Take it up with the administrators, not me. Repainting works are being done on the halls, and the first to be affected are the single rooms. You’re lucky they even gave you a space in the dorms considering you’re not a freshman. Don’t non-freshmen usually live in off-campus apartments or in the frat houses?” Her lips suddenly curved upwards in an evil smirk. “Or do you lack friends to share housing with?”

          Percival bit his lip to hold back his retort. He _did_ have friends. Newt was one, and so was Newt’s girlfriend Tina, whom he had met a few times and with whom he had actually managed to hold a semi-intelligent conversation. Seraphina had gone to a different college, but they were still in touch with each other. He supposed his brothers in the fraternity counted as well. They were supposed to be brothers after all, even though the idea of calling people who were completely unrelated to him and just happened to be part of the same club “brothers” rubbed him the wrong way. They hardly had anything in common. But he noticed the smirk on the woman’s face and realised how his silence could be interpreted. “I could have lived in the frat house with my friends, but I decided I needed a more conducive environment to focus on my studies.”

         The woman actually laughed out loud this time. “Conducive study environment. Freshman dorms. Yeah, and I’m the first female president of the United States.”

           “It would have been conducive if I could have gotten a single room,” he said mutinously, glaring at the computer and wondering if Credence could somehow hack into the system and free up a single room for him. The boy seemed to like computers a lot. Maybe he was secretly a master hacker. 

           The woman smiled and patted his arm in a way that appeared sympathetic, but he just _knew_ was meant to be condescending. “Talk to the administrators if you must. But why don’t you take this as an opportunity to make friends instead?”

* * *

 

            Credence woke up to rustling noises and the muffled sound of something heavy being dropped on a soft surface. He blearily reached for his phone, holding it close to his face because he was too lazy to put on his glasses. It was only seven-thirty in the morning. Nobody at home got up this early unless it was a school day. He couldn’t remember what time he had gone back to sleep, but after the stream had ended, he had spent some time reading up on information related to the game, which he had neglected for the past few months. Then he had messed around with the character models for his personal project, a simple video game he was making for fun and hoping to release for a low price online once it was complete. But it was _much_ too early to be awake. The whole point of graduating high school and entering college was to take classes he actually liked, arranged around a schedule that didn’t involve waking up at the crack of dawn. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep.

_College_. His eyes flew open. That’s right, he was in college now. Term was about to begin and he had moved into the dorms. And he had met someone yesterday. Someone who had entered the room, said he wasn’t Credence’s roommate, and disappeared just as abruptly. Maybe the noises were from his real roommate, who must have arrived after he had fallen asleep. He put on his glasses and was greeted by the sight of a strangely familiar-looking person angrily pulling books out of a box and dropping them on the other bed. One of the books slid onto the floor with a thump and the guy cursed, then glanced over at the bed as though worried that he would wake Credence. When he noticed Credence was already awake, he froze.

             “You’re the guy from last night,” Credence said, suddenly realising why the guy looked so familiar. He had been slightly groggy and afterwards, too focused on tuning in to the stream to fully take in the guy’s appearance, but now the features his brain had cursorily logged were starting to register. Dark hair cut short and slicked back, a strong, square jaw, brows furrowed in an expression of permanent disapproval. He had seemed angry yesterday night too.

              The guy sighed. “Yes, Sherlock. Do you even remember my name?”

           Credence hesitated. This was what had prevented him from making friends in school—his inability to retain information unrelated to his interests. In his opinion, names weren’t that important (an online alias was perfectly fine by him), but they were important to other people and he had offended plenty of people when they realised, months into their acquaintance, he couldn’t remember their name. He didn’t know how to answer this question, and thus decided to answer it with a question of his own. “Didn’t you say you weren’t my roommate?”

            “As a result of my own stupidity and administrative cock-ups, I am officially your roommate.” The guy picked up a book, glared at the title on its spine and slapped it on the table not occupied by Credence’s gaming setup. Credence noticed that the only other items on the table were a small laptop and a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff. “Can you do me a favour?”

            “What do you want?” This came out a little more tremulously than he preferred. Credence would never admit it to his face, but this guy was scary. He didn’t look like a stereotypical gangster, but he had the intimidating aura and lean physique of someone who could easily beat Credence to the ground. The perpetual glare didn’t help either.

            “You’re a tech geek, right? Do you think you could hack into the system and get me moved to a single room? There has to be one unoccupied room in this hall.” The guy paused. “Nothing against you, I just thought I’d be living alone this semester.”

             Credence briefly wondered how the guy had figured out his passion for computers when he knew nothing about the guy, not even his name. “Oh, I can’t do that. I’m a programmer, not a hacker. They’re very different things.” Besides, hacking into a university database screamed “EXPEL ME”. He didn’t want to be kicked out before school even started.

            The guy sighed. “Oh well. It was worth a shot. I didn’t really expect you to agree, even if you could do it.” They were silent for a few moments before the guy remembered his very first question. “So, since we’re going to be roommates, do you even remember my name?”

              Credence shook his head, deciding that since they were still newly acquainted, this guy was less likely to take offense.

              “It’s Percival. I told you when you were busy with your Kickstarter.”

           “I wasn’t busy with a Kickstarter.” Credence wrinkled his nose. “I was watching the livestream of the release of a game trailer, whose development was partially funded by a Kickstarter.”

              “Whatever. Anyway, it’s nice to finally talk to you when you’re not half-asleep or hanging over your computer, Credence.”

              “How do you know my name?”

              “You told me last night. And it’s an unusual name, so it stuck in my head.”

            Credence shrugged, used to harsher, more jeering comments about his name. He had no idea who had given it to him, and Modesty’s name was pretty unusual too, which was what had gotten him thinking about whether they could be related in the first place. Thinking about Modesty made him feel unexpectedly homesick, considering how eager he had been to leave for Ilvermorny.

             “Anyway, you might want to spend the day unpacking. I’ll be in the library all day, and I don’t fancy trying to fall asleep while you’re moving around trying to fit your things into the cupboard.”

              Credence shrugged again. He had taken out some toiletries and clothes yesterday—he wasn’t completely inept—but Percival was right, most of his things were still stuffed inside his luggage. But how was it any of Percival’s business whether or not he chose to finish unpacking? He was an adult, after all. “Why are you going to the library? Term hasn’t even begun.”

            “Because I was stupid and thought spending the holidays doing independent study modules would be a good idea. I spent most of last night trying to resolve the room issue, then moving my stuff from the frat house to this room, but now I have a research paper due and I really need to get to the library. I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot. Just do me a favour and unpack now so I can get a good night’s sleep later.”

                With these parting words, Credence’s new roommate grabbed his laptop and the bottle of Smirnoff and swept out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

         “Are you talking to actual human beings?”

          It was the night before term would officially begin, and Credence had finally found time to make a Skype call home. He didn’t have to cook his own meals since the dorm offered meal plans, but he still had to do laundry and all sorts of small things that ended up taking more time than he expected. Percival was still being a world-class grouch, but he was often out of the room before Credence woke up and only returned late at night with even more books in his arms. He hunched over his laptop while Credence typed away at his computer, both seated at separate desks, the only sounds in the room made by the clacking of two keyboards. They barely said anything to each other. But now Percival was out doing research or whatever, so he had the room to himself. It was the perfect time to make a call. He spoke briefly to his foster parents, then Modesty was pushing at them, clamouring for her turn to speak to him and look at his new living conditions.

         “Is this seriously the first thing you’re asking me?” Credence watched Modesty look around and knew what she was seeing—bland white walls (neither he nor Percival was the decorating sort), the corner of his bed, two bookshelves, and the door to their room. Percival usually hung his jacket on the hook on the back of the door, but he was probably wearing the jacket right now, stomping around campus frowning at people.

         “It looks like a jail cell.”

         “It’s a school dorm. It’s not supposed to be a luxury hotel suite.”

         “It’s lame,” she declared. “I don’t want to live in a dorm when I go to college.”

         “You might not have a choice if you go to one that’s really far away.”

         “Where’s your roommate?” Modesty demanded. “Do you even talk to him?”

         “Well, he—”

          The door banged open, cutting Credence off mid-sentence. Percival had come back early and but instead of the usual armful of books, he was holding a couple of bottles. Credence couldn’t read the labels through the jerky, slow-motion camera footage. But Modesty’s eyes caught the flurry of movement and her eyes lit up. “Heyyyy, is that your roommate? Hi, Credence’s roommate!”

_“Modesty!”_

          Percival froze at the sound of the childish female voice. He glanced at the screen, where Modesty was waving cheerfully, then back to the door. Credence could see that he was trying to think of a way to excuse himself without seeming rude—he could tell Percival didn’t have experience with little kids and wasn’t in the mood to talk to an overly friendly nine-year-old. He tried to help. “My roommate’s very busy with his studies, we shouldn’t disturb him…”

         “Hey, I know Credence is an antisocial nerd, but he’s actually very nice!  He takes a shower more than once a week and he left his life-size anime cutout at home, so give him a chance—”

         “I’m hanging up,” Credence threatened, already moving the mouse to the “End Call” button.

         “Aw, don’t be like that! I haven’t talked to you in ages!”

         “Don’t bother my roommate, then. He’s very busy.”

         “Aren’t we bothering him by talking like this?” Modesty pointed out, quite logically.

         “You might need to call back another time, I thought I was going to be alone in the room tonight—”

         “So you can jack off?”

         “Modesty, I swear—”

         “Don’t hang up at my expense, I’m really enjoying this.”

          Both of them stopped talking at the sound of the third voice. Percival was still standing within range of the camera, and the wrinkles between his thick eyebrows seemed to have lessened slightly. There was something different about the set of his mouth too. Oh my God, was he actually smiling? Credence didn’t think Percival’s brain understood the concept of happiness.

          Percival walked closer to the camera. Credence suddenly became acutely aware of Percival’s body radiating heat from behind him, one arm braced against the table, and was struck by an urge to lean against his chest, like a cat basking in the warmth of a radiator. It made no sense at all. He should be moving away from this not-quite gangster and ending the call. But then he realised Percival was speaking, and not to him.

         “You’re Credence’s sister?”

         “Umm…” Modesty had finally gotten Percival’s attention, but now that she was looking at him directly, she was acting all shy and nervous. _See, he’s so scary even Modesty can’t talk to him. You should stay away from him, not lean into him._

         “Does Credence really have a life-size anime cutout at home?”

_“How is this relevant?!”_ Credence clutched at his hair in exasperation.

          “He used to,” Modesty conceded, still sounding a little nervous and refusing to meet Percival’s gaze.

          “That’s interesting. He could have brought it here. I wouldn’t mind.”

_Is he serious?_

           Credence decided that it was time to take drastic action. “I’ll call you back another time, Modesty. You should probably go to sleep.”

          “Nice to meet you, Modesty,” Percival said from behind him.

           Modesty gave him a weak smile and a small wave before Credence cut the call and snapped the laptop shut, causing all the monitors to go black.

          “Um,” Credence said. “Sorry about my sister. She gets a little over-excited trying to embarrass me.”

          “It’s fine. I should be the one apologising for always walking in when you’re trying to sleep or have private conversations.”

           They lapsed into silence. Percival seemed to realise that he was leaning over Credence and hurriedly moved to stand against the wall. Then he remembered that he was still holding the bottles and went to put them down on his desk. There was a sudden tension in the room that hadn’t been there before, not even on the nights they had worked in silence next to each other. Percival was the first to break it. “Is your sister really named Modesty?”

          “Yeah,” Credence mumbled, bracing himself to defend their old-fashioned, weird names. He didn’t care if people made fun of him, but Modesty was off-limits.

          “Your parents have an interesting sense of names.”

          “Modesty and I aren’t related. At least, I have no proof that we are.” Credence could sense Percival’s confusion, but he didn’t want to go into the full story. “We’re foster siblings.”

          “Ah.” This was where some people, when they found out that Credence was in foster care, started treating him differently, like he was a ticking time bomb. Or drowned him with sickly sweet sympathy that made him feel like a broken object they wanted to repair. But Percival didn’t seem to care. He continued to pursue the subject with his usual brusqueness. “You’re very close for foster siblings.”

          “We’ve lived together for six years.”

          “That’s even more unusual. I thought most foster kids moved around a lot.”

          “I moved around a lot before this family. And technically I’m eighteen, so I’ve aged out of the system.”

          “Why didn’t your foster parents officially adopt you and Modesty? It would give them legal parental rights and provide you both with better legal protection as well.”

           A spark of anger flared up in Credence. “How should I know? What are you, a lawyer?”

          “I’m doing a double major in Philosophy and Political Science, actually. I plan to go to law school once I graduate.”

          “Good for you.”

          More silence, broken by the sound of a bottle being opened. To his surprise, Credence found a bottle of cider being waved in his face. “Here. I didn’t mean to pry.”

         “S’okay,” Credence muttered. The anger had faded as abruptly as it had flared up. “I don’t drink.”

         “Don’t sulk, you’re a grown-ass adult. I thought you geeky types ran on sugary drinks, so I went out and bought the sweetest beverage with the lowest alcohol content I could find.”

         “Why are you so talkative tonight?” Credence decided to accept the olive branch—or rather, the bottle of Kopparberg Strawberry and Lime. He took a sip and hesitated. “Wait, if you’re planning to study law, why are you offering me alcohol when you know I’m not of legal drinking age yet?”

          Percival rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, come on. You’re not telling me you’ve never snuck a taste before. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

         “I’ve never had a drink in my life.” Credence knew drinking was more fun with friends, and he didn’t have friends. Or at least, not the type that had the connections to get their hands on alcohol. But it had never really mattered to him.

         “Were you raised by Puritans?” Percival tapped his own cheek lightly. “Never mind, forget I said that. Just drink. You’re missing out.” He cracked open his own bottle of vodka—it was Absolut tonight, not Smirnoff—and drank deeply. “Feels good to finally be free from that independent study. Just in time for the new semester.”

          So _that_ was why he was in such a good mood. “You finished your paper?”

          “Hell yeah. Stamped, signed and sealed. And don’t worry, I bought everything legally. I’m twenty-one.”

          Credence was learning more about Percival in one night than he had learned in the past five days. But there was one question on his mind. “Are you an alcoholic?”

          Percival looked offended. _“What?”_

          “It’s just, you were drinking when I first met you, you were probably drinking the whole time you were doing research, and you’re drinking now. I think I have a right to know after you asked me all those personal questions.”

          Percival was silent for a moment, and Credence wondered if he had gone too far. He was still scary, even when he was in a good mood. But then Percival answered, “I don’t think I am.”

         That was hardly the direct, yes-or-no answer Credence was expecting, but he decided not to pursue it. “Okay.”

        “Look, I’m really sorry about being so grouchy for the past few days. I really wanted to finish the paper before term started, so I was stressed out. I’m not an alcoholic. You just happened to catch me at a bad time.”

        Credence could understand bad times in life. “Okay. You haven’t been drinking in the room, so it’s not like you’re drinking all the time. You’re probably not an alcoholic.”

        Percival smiled at this, a genuine smile, and Credence couldn’t look away. He looked so much younger and happier when he was smiling, and Credence found himself wondering what it would take to make him smile more. “I always seem to get the weird ones for roommates.”

       “I’m not weird.”

       “Says the guy with a life-sized anime cutout.”

       Maybe Percival wasn’t so scary after all. He was just going through a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning that alcoholism will come into play later;; I was really hesitant about including this because I wasn’t sure if I could write it realistically, and I personally like writing more lighthearted things. I tried to keep it in the background though.


	4. Chapter 4

            Term started, and Percival sank back into the routine of lectures, readings and the occasional meal with Newt. He and Credence still spent most nights in their room working, but it wasn’t the tense silence that had characterised their early interactions. Percival sometimes took a break from reading about Descartes to watch whatever Credence was watching on his computer. Once, he had grown curious about this game that Credence seemed to like a lot, a game that seemed to involve a bunch of teenagers that could summon their own monsters to fight other monsters, and Credence had invited him to watch the playthrough with him. They had spent the rest of the night debating the game’s themes of vigilante justice and corruption in society. Other times, Credence stopped working on the assignments from the compulsory mathematics module required for his major to listen to Percival talk about philosophy and talked about the philosophical themes in some games. It was an unexpectedly comforting way to relax after a whole day of stress-filled lectures and tutorials, even though they were about similar topics. Even talking to Newt hadn’t been this easy.

            But not everything was perfect. Percival couldn’t stop thinking about Credence asking him whether he was an alcoholic. It planted a seed of doubt in his head and caused him to see everything in a new light. He didn’t think he had been drinking a lot during the special term, but Credence’s first impression of him had been associated with drinking. Even that night he had first managed to bond with Credence had involved alcohol, which if he recalled correctly, Credence had hardly drunk while he had polished off the entire bottle of Absolut and started working his way through a new one. There weren’t any gaps in his memory from blacking out, but he had been particularly short-tempered during the special term, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he only felt a little better after having something to drink. Maybe this was the start of full-blown alcoholism. It was worrying, and he probably needed to find some other way to cope with stress. Talking to Credence after a long, terrible day seemed to work fine. He resolved to rely on that instead.

             A week into the semester, Newt invited Percival to his apartment for dinner. Well, his and Tina’s apartment. They were living in a shared apartment not too far off from campus, and Tina’s sister Queenie would be there too. The only things Percival knew about Queenie were that she was one year younger than Tina and part of a sorority in Ilvermorny (which might explain why he didn’t know her very well, given his desire to avoid all fraternity or sorority-related activities). But Tina insisted that Queenie was a wonderful person and Percival needed to make friends with people apart from her and Newt. Percival wished people would stop saying he needed to make friends. He brought up the topic with Credence that night. “Do I look like someone who doesn’t have any friends?”

            Credence had been typing out a long line of code—the seemingly arbitrary arrangement of numbers and command words on the screen were making Percival’s head spin—and he stopped to consider the question. He was taking far too long to answer a question as simple as this. But just as he was about to tell Credence so, Credence said, “Yes.”

            “That’s not fair. You don’t have any friends either.”

            “I have online friends. And I have you.”

            “Online friends don’t count.” Percival felt a small rush of pleasure at the second part of Credence’s answer, but decided not to focus on it. “I have more real life friends than you, at any rate.”

            “Like who?”

             Percival began to list his friends. “Newt. He’s my old roommate. He’s as weird as you, but he likes animals, not games. Newt’s girlfriend, Tina. She’s studying Criminology and sometimes I have no idea how she and Newt fell in love with each other. Seraphina, my childhood friend, who went to a different college. Oh, and I guess Queenie, Tina’s sister, will be my friend by tomorrow if she’s as great as Tina says she is.”

            “That’s like, four people, and two of them are related to your old roommate in some way.”

            “So? That’s still more friends than you have.”

            “True, but I don’t let what people think bother me, unlike you.”

             It was a mark of how quickly they had bonded that Percival didn’t take Credence’s answer as a personal insult, the way he might have with any other person. “Maybe you should come along to dinner and meet them. You’re holed up in our room all the time. It’s hard to believe you’re a freshman.”

            “No thanks. I was planning to watch a game playthrough and do a little grinding so I’ll be ready for the upcoming raid.”

            “I thought grinding was something people did in clubs, not at home.”

            “You can grind coffee beans, and I have plans with my computer.”

            “Maybe I’ll tell Modesty that you’re planning to fill our room with life-size anime cutouts and talk to them instead.”

             Credence shuddered and turned back to his computer.

            “Just come. Get to know some people apart from your roommate. You can take care of yourself better than Newt, but I swear you’re worse than him when it comes to interacting with people. Won’t you need to do group projects in future? You really should build up communication skills.”

            Credence sighed. “Fine. Will we be helping them with the cooking?”

            “Nope, Newt said they’d cook, but he’d appreciate it if we helped wash up afterwards.”

            “Fine. I hope they don’t mind an extra person.”

            “Oh, Tina will be delighted. I can’t wait for her to meet you. It’ll prove to her that I have friends outside of her and Newt.”

            “I knew there was an ulterior motive behind that invitation…”

* * *

 

            The next evening, Percival met Credence outside the School of Computing for the ten-minute walk to Newt and Tina’s apartment. Watching Credence walk up to him, weighed down by his new textbooks, he was struck by a sudden urge to offer to carry the textbooks for Credence, like a nervous teenager trying to make a good impression by demonstrating how gentlemanly he was. Then he shook himself mentally. Credence knew he was no gentleman, and he was strong enough to carry his own books. They walked along, chatting about nothing in particular.

            There was a bird perched on Newt’s shoulder when he opened the door to greet them, and Percival had to restrain himself from asking if Newt was walking around with dinner on his shoulder. It was a good thing he did, because it turned out the bird was a rare species that Newt was temporarily looking after on behalf of an ornithology organisation, which wanted to observe if it could be domesticated and encouraged to breed so it could avoid extinction. Tina and Queenie were laying out plates of salad and beans, and just as he had predicted, Tina was surprised but delighted to meet Credence. Percival felt oddly protective—he could sense Credence’s nervousness at dealing with new people, but Credence managed to hold up his end of the conversation. He thought Queenie, who was strikingly beautiful, might make Credence even more nervous, but Queenie seemed to know just what to say to relax him. Percival felt Queenie’s eyes on him when he declined the wine Newt was passing around and thought she was going to comment on it, but the words that came out of her mouth were much worse.

            “Percival, there’s going to be a joint party between your fraternity and my sorority as a final event for all the people who have been rushing, and all existing members need to be there to meet the candidates.”

             Any good feelings he held towards Queenie for putting Credence at ease were instantly dashed. “I don’t want to go.”

           “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Percival,” Queenie snapped, suddenly angry. “It’s just one event and you can go back to being a sleeping member. I promised to pass on the message to you, since you’re never around and nobody seems to be able to contact you.”

           Percival had indeed been deleting all fraternity-related messages he received. “What does it matter? I’m not going to be interacting with these people after they join up. The party can go on without me.”

        “You need to have some impression of them when it comes to deciding who gets a bid. Why did you even join if you aren’t interested in the activities, anyway?”

        Percival glared down at the table, knowing the truth and hating himself for it.  All the reasons that he had repeated to himself to justify walking down this path--his father had been a member, membership in a prestigious college fraternity would look good on his future resume—were ultimately rooted in fear of what people thought of him. It was just like Credence had said, and in that moment, he wished he didn’t care at all. Maintaining appearances was too much work.

         God, he needed a drink.

       Queenie seemed to sense his conflicted emotions. “Why don’t you quit after the initiation? You’re already in your last year of school, so it won’t matter as much.”

         “I can’t,” Percival mumbled. He’d already slogged through three years of it. What was one more year? He couldn’t give up right at the end.

        Newt, Tina and Credence had been following the conversation in silence. “I’ve never understood why fraternities are such a big deal here in the US, but they do help you make connections with others,” Newt offered, trying to cheer him up. “Since your future job as a lawyer will involve lots of people in high places, you’ve made a good investment by joining.”

       “Yeah, it’s not that bad when you think about the long-term benefits,” Tina agreed.

        Credence didn’t say anything.

       Queenie tried to console him again. “I’ll be there too. Just keep your head and don’t do anything stupid.” They looked at each other for a beat, and unnoticed by everyone else, an entire unsaid conversation seemed to pass between them. Percival sighed and looked back down at the table. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there.”

* * *

 

       “I’ll go with you.”

       Percival nearly fell over in surprise at the sound of Credence’s voice. They were on their way back to the dorms after dinner, which had been more subdued than usual. Percival was stewing in guilt at having caused all that tension with his personal problems, combined with unhappiness at having to actually attend the damn party, so he had stayed silent as they walked. He hadn’t expected Credence to talk to him, and certainly not to say that.

       “You want to attend a rush event?”

       “Maybe I do. Is there a rule that says I can’t?”

      Credence had stopped walking, and was glaring defiantly at Percival. He wasn’t slouching for once, but standing up straight, and Percival realised that Credence might be a little taller than him. The moonlight caused his dark eyes to glitter like onyx.

    “Actually, there is. Rush events are usually open to anyone interested in joining, but since this is the last one and a joint event, the people who turn up are serious about becoming pledges. You obviously haven’t gone to any of the other events, so no one knows who you are. They’ll probably throw you out.”

      “I’ll take that chance. I want to try new things.”

     “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? I practically had to beg you to come to dinner tonight with people that I actually know and like, and now you’re volunteering to go to a _party_ with people I barely know and intensely dislike?”

      Credence’s eyes slid away from Percival’s. “Tonight wasn’t so bad. Maybe the party won’t be that bad either. I should probably try to attend at least one party in my life.”

      “Don’t you already have a zillion parties in those online games you play?”

     “Don’t joke. I was thinking about what you said about communication skills and realised I do need to work on mine. Not just for group projects here, but for the future as well. I can’t go through life hiding behind a screen.”

     “Talking to people isn’t about blindly throwing yourself into a group you know you won’t fit into. Try joining, I don’t know, the video game club or programming club or something. A rush event is hardly the type of social event you’ll like. You’ll be unhappy the whole time.”

     “Won’t you be unhappy the whole time too?”

     Percival blinked at him. Was Credence saying what he thought he was saying? A warm feeling welled up inside his chest, but he made another half-hearted attempt to dissuade Credence. “I’m touched you care enough to come, but I’ll be fine. I’ll make an excuse and sneak away at the earliest possible opportunity. Besides, if you go they’ll ply you with cheap beer and I’ll end up having to carry your drunk ass home.”

      “I won’t pass out.”

      “That’s what they all say.”

      “I’m going, and I don’t care what you say.”

      The last vestiges of Percival’s resistance crumbled under this display of unexpectedly cute petulance. “Fine. It’s not like you need my permission to do things. Just try not to get caught up in anything illegal, okay?”

       Credence relaxed slightly. “I know a lawyer who can help me out if that happens.”

      “Don’t count on it, kid. I’m not even a real lawyer yet.”

      “There are games where people represent themselves despite having no legal background, and win the case.”

      “You’re welcome to try that out in real life if you want, but I’m not getting involved!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAMING REFERENCES! I was really excited to make Credence a gamer but the problem is, I don’t play that many games myself so he comes across as someone with a fixation on Japanese VN games, RPGs and the occasional MMO, sorry kiddo   
> -“using monsters to fight other monsters” and “vigilante justice/corruption in society” is a reference to Persona 5! I love this game, its characters and the music to bits.  
> -“people representing themselves (in court) despite having no legal background” is a reference to Ace Attorney. The law in this game is all sorts of amazing. You play as a qualified lawyer, but the trial sections of gameplay is basically you bullshitting your way through court with the random evidence you’ve collected and somehow pointing out that one of your witnesses is the true culprit, getting a Not Guilty verdict in the process. I've always had a soft spot for this series.


	5. Chapter 5

        “What am I supposed to wear?”

         Percival smoothed down the collar of his white button-down shirt and glanced over at Credence. It was the night of the party, and based on past experience, Percival knew most people would be chugging drinks before heading down to the event. He was still being good about keeping away from alcohol and felt relatively confident of being able to abstain from it tonight--the thought of passing out in puddles of vomit left by other trashed partygoers was enough to keep him sober and of course, he had to take care of Credence as well. Naturally, Credence’s greatest concern wasn’t with pre-drinks, but with what to wear. “There’s no dress code as far as I know. Anything goes.”

         “Yeah, but I don’t want to look like a nerd.”

          Privately, Percival thought no amount of flashy clothes would be able to mask Credence’s inherent nerdiness, but he understood where Credence was coming from. “It doesn’t matter what you wear. I think it’s more a matter of looking confident, like you belong there. Nobody will question you that way.”

         “Confidence,” Credence muttered. “Okay. I can do that.” He riffled through his stack of clothes in their shared cupboard and pulled something out. “I’m going to change.”

        “Why don’t you just change in front of me?” Percival tried to joke, but Credence shot him a quelling look, and he realised how nervous the latter was. “Relax. You’re not a pledge, so it doesn’t matter what they think of you. You probably won’t see them again after tonight.”

        Credence shrugged and left the room. Percival’s thoughts drifted to what the party was going to be like. He wondered if there was going to be an official meet-the-pledges session, or if they were expected to learn about the pledges by mingling and making small talk. Percival hated mingling, and he didn’t know any of their faces from past events. Hopefully it would be an official one and he’d be able to leave straight away.

          The door banged open as he was trying to figure out the earliest possible time he could excuse himself, and Percival found himself looking into the face of a stranger. Well, not a complete stranger, but it was like trying to look up at the sun while underwater--everything was distorted but still dazzling. Credence wasn’t wearing his glasses. Percival had never noticed how long his lashes were; they practically grazed his cheeks every time he blinked. His usually unkempt, chin-length hair was tied back in a low ponytail, showing off the sharp planes of his face. He was wearing a flannel shirt over a t-shirt with abstract black-and-white designs on it and capri three-quarter pants. It was a far cry from the usual oversized t-shirt-and-sweatpants combo he usually wore around the room.

          “Wow,” Percival said, and clamped his mouth shut.

           Credence flushed. “Is it too weird? I can change into something else.”

          “No, you look great. You nailed the hipster-geek look that’s so popular nowadays. I thought the whole geek makeover thing only happened on television, and usually it’s someone else who provides the geek with the makeover.” Percival realised he was babbling. “Can you even see without your glasses?”

        “I’m wearing contact lenses. They’re uncomfortable.” Credence twirled his glasses between his fingers. “I bought them a while back so my glasses wouldn’t keep fogging up every time I tried to drink something hot, but it takes too much effort to put them in.”

          “It does kind of look like you’re stabbing at your own eyeballs.” Percival was glad for his perfect vision. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

 

         Percival had been worried about Credence getting turned away at the door, but they got inside with no problems. Loud music blasted his ears the moment they entered, and everyone was so packed together they could hardly move. Percival decided the first order of the day would be to show his face to the president, so he could at least say he’d showed up. He tried to tell Credence this, but Credence couldn’t hear him over the music. So he grabbed Credence’s hand and tried to fight their way through the crowd to find a quieter spot. When they finally managed to push their way through the throng of bodies, they found themselves by the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. Queenie was standing next to the president of Percival’s fraternity, Abernathy. Her face lit up with a dazzling smile, but Percival realised she wasn’t looking at his face. She was looking at his hand, which was still entwined with Credence’s. He hurriedly let go.

          “Is that a pledge?” Abernathy was ignoring Percival in favour of studying Credence. “I don’t remember seeing him around.”

          “No, he’s my…” _My what?_ Suddenly, Percival couldn’t think of an appropriate word to describe Credence. “Roommate.”

          “Have you been off the radar for so long that you forgot the joint party event is for prospective pledges and members only?”

        “Members are allowed to bring guests, aren’t they?” Percival couldn’t believe his brain had retained this useless nugget of information for so long and was choosing to dust it off now, but the sight of Queenie’s dress triggered a memory of seeing Tina in the same dress, in this same frat house. Tina had been there as Queenie’s guest, playing the role of the protective older sister. It was how he had first gotten to know her—she had thought he was trying to put the moves on Queenie and turned on him in fury. He decided to ask the question whose answer would determine how long they were stuck here. “When are you guys introducing the pledges?”

           Abernathy frowned at Percival as though he could read his mind. “Not so soon. Why don’t you grab something to drink and mingle with people?”

          Someone waved wildly at Abernathy and he began to navigate his way across the room to talk to the person, leaving Percival, Queenie and Credence alone. Percival let out a small sigh of exasperation and glanced at Credence, who was probably the only person here having less fun than he was. But Credence was staring at the game of beer pong raging in the corner and suddenly said, “I want something to drink.”

           Queenie leapt into action. “You stay here with Percival. I’ll get you something.” She was gone before either of them could say anything.

          “What a scene,” said Credence.

          Percival gave a noncommittal grunt. His hand felt oddly empty, and he was struck by the desire to take Credence’s hand again. But there was no need for that now that they weren’t trying to fight their way through a crowd and were already standing next to each other. Credence probably wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a kid whose parents were afraid of losing him.

          Queenie reappeared, handing them each a cheap red plastic cup. “Yours is plain Coke. I poured it straight from the bottle,” she whispered into Percival’s ear.

        Percival nodded his appreciation. Somehow, Queenie had picked up on his desire to avoid alcohol and was doing her best not to make a big deal of it. He wondered if he had been that obvious, or if she was just really good at reading people. Tina had been right, though. Queenie was a good person who deserved someone better than any of these frat boys. He took a sip and watched Credence knock back the entire contents of the cup. This was completely different from the cautious sips he had taken from the cider Percival had offered him that night. “Slow down, kid. The night is young.”

         “I have to go,” Queenie said suddenly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

         “We won’t,” Percival promised, in answer to both the voiced and the unvoiced statement. He watched her slide through the gaps in the crowd, moving with the grace of a dancer.

         “Let’s walk around since we’re already here,” Credence suggested. “I don’t want to spend the whole night standing in the same place.”

         “You sure?”

        _“Yes,”_ he said with a hint of impatience. “Might as well make the most of this experience. Like exploring a new floor in a dungeon.”

         That sounded more like the Credence he knew. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

 

        By the time they had circled the first floor and taken a peek at the activities on the second floor, Credence was slightly unstable on his feet and leaning into Percival. He hadn’t been able to turn down the offers of shots and drinks, and what had probably started out as a need for liquid courage soon became almost like a reflex action. Percival wondered if he should do something, but he had been keeping track of Credence’s alcohol intake and it wasn’t really that much compared to what he could put away on a normal day. Besides, he wasn’t Credence’s dad. Far be it for him to stop a typically introverted social recluse from cutting loose once in a while. As long as he stayed sober to prevent anyone from harassing Credence, it was fine.

      They were in a small alcove under another flight of stairs on the second floor. Credence had wanted to climb the stairs leading to the upper level (“Maybe there’s treasure up there!”) but Percival had dissuaded him, saying it was an attic space where they dumped old furniture and other items previous batches had donated to the frat house. “Unless you want a history lesson on the fraternity, there’s really nothing much to see.”

       “I don’t like history. I like computers.”

       “I know.” Percival tried not to laugh. “Why don’t we stop walking around for a bit? We’ve covered the entire place.” The alcove had materialised in front of them, almost like magic. Percival had never even known it existed, but it was perfect—a small, quiet space with what looked like an old table soccer game that nobody had wanted to haul up the stairs, a dusty lamp shaped like an elf and a few kid-sized chairs. There was just enough space for the two of them to squeeze inside, and it was like being in a private bubble, sheltered from the party raging on outside. Percival wondered if they could just wait here until it was time for the pledges to be introduced.

      “Hey, Percy—”A familiar, slightly slurred voice cut into his thoughts. “Why d’you guys have this…this cupboard under the stairs here?  Is this some kinda Harry Potter shit?”

      Credence was perched on one of the kid-sized chairs. The chair was so short that his knees came up to his chin. Percival hadn’t been sure if the chairs could bear his weight, so he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the table soccer game.

      “What?”

      “Do you guys,” Credence swept one hand around to indicate the small space they were in, “Make someone sleep in here?”

      “Why would we do that?” Apparently Credence was one of those people who got extremely talkative when they were drunk. It was cute, but he was making even less sense than usual.

      “Oh. Good. ‘Cause that’s child abuse. I don’t wanna hafta call the police on you. I like you a lot.”

      “Credence, there are no children here. This is a university frat house.”

      “Right…”

       Percival had been doing his best to restrain himself, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Did you say you like me?”

     “Yeah. You’re a great friend. I never really had friends before this, y’know? At first I thought it might be ‘cause one of my earlier foster mothers didn’t like me talking to people. Maybe that affected how I interacted with others. I don’t know. Then I thought maybe it’s ‘cause I moved around a lot. But now I think it’s ‘cause I annoy people. I don’t know why you aren’t annoyed by me.”

      Percival tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. He should be _happy_ that Credence considered him a friend. But for some reason, it made him sad. He latched on to another part of that long, rambling sentence, one that a sober Credence would never have brought up of his own volition. “Tell me about your earlier foster mother.”

     “Oh. I was only with her for about…about two years. Maybe a little bit more’n that. But it was enough. I wasn’t allowed to stay out after school or have people over, and once I snuck out to play with some other kids, but she caught me coming back in and I wasn’t able to sleep on my back for two days. She wouldn’t let Chastity—that was another one of the kids in the house—bandage the wounds either ‘cause she said it was a waste of good resources on a disobedient brat.” He paused. “I hope Chastity’s okay. She was transferred out a few months before I left.”

      “That’s _horrible_.” The earlier comment about sleeping under the stairs suddenly took on a new, disturbing light. “Please tell me she didn’t put you in a cupboard under the stairs.”

      “Nah. She put me in a cupboard sometimes though. When I did something wrong. It was kinda like a time-out? Lots of people get time-outs. So it wasn’t that bad. I think. It was better than the belt."

      Percival was starting to wish he hadn’t broached this topic. He had heard complaints about the foster care system, but those were usually related to how much taxpayer money went into propping up a system that didn’t seem to be working, what with how many of the kids ended up incarcerated, unemployed or dropping out of school. He had never considered that people who signed up to be foster parents might abuse the children under their care. Credence’s current family was obviously good and he was close to his foster sister, but he shuddered to think what might have happened if he had been stuck with that foster mother for the entire duration of his care. He wondered how a sober Credence would react if he found out how much he had let slip and decided to pretend he’d never heard any of it. “I don’t think you’re annoying.”

      “No?”

      “I think you’re— “ _Weird, awkward, driven, strong, caring, cute as hell and I want to kiss you so badly no wait stop cut that out_ — “unique.”

      “Uniquely annoying?”

      “No, just unique.”

    “That’s a nice thing to say. You’re nice, Percy.” For some reason, Credence was no longer on the chair. He was crawling across the small space, somehow managing to avoid the elf-shaped lamp and other chairs. Then he was in front of Percival, slowly raising himself such that their faces were on the same level. His fringe was flopping into his eyes, just like it had been that night Percival had walked in on him asleep. Percival wanted to reach out and brush it away, but he couldn’t seem to move his hands. He couldn’t seem to move any part of his body. Credence’s face was drawing closer, and the closer he got the more Percival didn’t— _couldn’t_ —move, ensnared by whatever fragile spell this space had cast on them. Then Credence’s lips pressed down on his own and his mind went blank.


	6. Chapter 6

        Percival had kissed girls before, but this one was different, and not because Credence was a boy. Most of the kisses had been brief and lust-filled, carried out in the backseat of his car or in a dark corner of the school with barely any lead-up to the action—they had just pounced on each other and gone at it. One or two had been more tender and emotional, the culmination of weeks of hesitant smiles, sideways glances and awkward attempts to strike up a conversation. He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had made him feel like he was drowning; but instead of losing consciousness, his senses seemed to sharpen as it went on and he became acutely aware of things he hadn’t even noticed before. The wooden panel of the table soccer game pressing into his back. The slight tickling sensation from Credence’s hair brushing against his face. The soft give of Credence’s lips as their mouths moved in an unfamiliar dance that neither of them had practiced before, but felt just right. The taste of alcohol on Credence’s tongue. He wanted to lose himself in everything about Credence.

       A particularly loud cheer rang out and Credence jumped, smacking his head against the low ceiling. “Ow! Fuck!” The pain seemed to jolt him back to his senses, and an expression of horror started to dawn on his face as he looked down at Percival. For his part, Percival didn’t understand why Credence was looking so scared. Hadn’t everything been going perfectly?

       “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t…I should go.” Credence was scrambling out of the alcove.

        _Go?_ “No, wait, don’t go,” Percival tried to say, but nothing came out. He was still stuck on the kiss and how much he wanted for it to continue, how much he wished it could have led to something more. By the time he managed to pull himself to his feet, still hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, Credence was gone.

* * *

 

       Credence woke up with a start, and immediately wished he was still unconscious. It was like someone had turned up a drill and was boring a hole into his head. His mouth felt dry, his eyes were aching because he’d worn his contact lenses overnight, and his clothes were sticking to him. Was this what it was like to be hungover? If so, he never wanted to repeat the experience. Percival could attend future frat parties on his own.

      What was it about the thought of Percival that filled him with dread? Had something happened last night?

      The sound of the door opening made him wince, and Percival walked into the room with a glass of water which he held out to Credence, along with a pill. “Drink up. The first hangover is always the worst.”

      Credence accepted both the water and the pill. Over the past few weeks, Percival had come to represent a sort of safe haven; just like this room, a place where he could be himself and act without being judged. He had only ever felt this way in gaming forums and chatrooms on the Internet, where the other people were reduced to small icons which more often than not, weren’t their real faces anyway. But now everything was topsy-turvy. Looking at Percival made him feel uneasy, like he had crossed some sort of line. What was the matter with him?

      Percival, perceptive as always, seemed to have picked up on his inner turmoil. “Is something wrong?”

      “I don’t know,” Credence admitted. He set the empty glass on the desk. “I feel like I did something wrong last night.”

      “Not pacing yourself when drinking is always a mistake. Most freshmen pick that up after the first few times.”

      “No, I think it involved you.”

       Was it his imagination, or did Percival stiffen at that? “What do you think happened?”

      “I can’t remember. I think we were in the frat house…somewhere dark and cramped. We might have been talking. Then…” Then what? He sifted through the hazy memories, gritting his teeth at the effort it took. “Then… Oh my God. I’m really sorry. That was inappropriate behaviour. I shouldn’t have done that.”

       “What did you do?”

       Was Percival really going to make him say it out loud? He looked down at the slightly rumpled sheets of his bed. “Kissed you. I was drunk and wasn’t thinking straight. But that’s no excuse. I didn’t mean to jump on you like that. I hope we can still be friends.”

      “Did you want to kiss me?”

       “Only because of the alcohol. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. I’m so sorry.”

        There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Credence picked at his nails, wishing Percival would break it. He really didn’t want to lose Percival’s friendship over a moment of stupidity. He was never getting drunk again.

        “It’s fine. Alcohol makes us do stupid things, things we don’t mean. Don’t worry about it.”

         Credence looked up, hardly daring to believe his ears. “Really? Thank you and again, I’m so, _so_ sorry—”

         “Don’t worry about it.” Percival smiled, but something about it seemed off. Credence hoped he wasn’t angry. “It’s all in the past now. You should take a shower and change out of those clothes.”

         “So we’re still friends?”

          Another pause. “Yeah. Friends. See you later.” He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Credence alone with a strange sense of dissatisfaction and a gnawing feeling that something in their relationship had changed, but not for the better.

* * *

 

         Credence and Percival still spoke to each other, but Credence felt as though there was a huge, invisible rock blocking the natural flow of conversation. Everything they said to each other sounded stiff and fake, even to someone as terrible at picking up on nuances as him. Percival also started spending more time out of the room— _doing research, he’s a serious student and has a lot of essays to write, he’s not avoiding me_ — and by the time he got back, he was too tired to do much more than nod in Credence’s direction and collapse into bed. Credence would have given anything to have the carefree Percival who was willing to talk to him about games and philosophy back, but short of wiping the kiss from Percival’s memory, there was nothing he could do. He threw himself back into working on his video game and downloaded a few more games, trying not to think about how Percival might have enjoyed some of them.

* * *

 

         Percival stared in disbelief at the grade written on the research paper from his independent study module. It couldn’t be. How could he have gotten a C? He had given up the entire summer break, put so much effort into research and took care to cite all his sources and format everything just as the professor had asked. Where had he gone wrong? He had thought the paper might have made a good writing sample in his law school application, but obviously it wouldn’t work now. He felt a laugh bubbling up in his throat, but it came out as a slightly teary cough. He wasn’t going to lose it here, in front of everyone. He should make an appointment to talk to his professor and find out what had gone wrong.

          _I want to talk to Credence_. The thought slammed into his head. But it was too late. His relationship with Credence had been destroyed before it could even get off the ground, and he had ruined their friendship with his coldness in the subsequent days after the party. He could tell Credence was worried that he was still angry about the kiss, but couldn’t find it in himself to console him. Every time he looked at Credence, he remembered how perfect everything had been that night—the magical feeling of those lips on his own and the disbelieving leap of joy in his stomach that Credence felt the same way he did. Then he remembered Credence’s words— _only because of the alcohol, I wouldn’t have done it otherwise_ —and it felt like a stab in the gut.

        This was so stupid, he hadn’t even wanted a roommate in the first place, but he’d gone and fallen in love with the guy anyway. He hadn’t known it was love, not when it had come on so slowly like a kettle slowly set to boil under low heat, but it had all come to a head with that kiss. He wanted more, to tangle his hands in Credence’s hair and wrap himself around that slender body like a vine, pulling them so close together nothing else could come between them. But there was an impenetrable wall between them, the bricks formed out of every stilted, unnatural word that passed between them, and now they weren’t even close enough for Percival to vent to. Newt and Tina had each other, Seraphina was struggling with her own workload, and Queenie—

_Queenie!_ They were technically friends, weren’t they? She was sweet, understanding and perceptive, and he couldn’t help remembering how happy she had looked seeing Credence’s hand in his. He might not be able to talk to her about the paper, but he could talk to her about Credence. Maybe she would be able to put things into perspective and teach him how to tear down the wall between them. Unceremoniously stuffing the paper into his bag, he pulled out his phone and searched eagerly through his contacts list for Queenie’s number.

         But her number was nowhere to be found, and he remembered that they had never gotten around to exchanging phone numbers. He decided to trawl through his messages, hoping her information might appear somewhere in a message related to the joint party. Then he realised he’d deleted every single fraternity-related message.

_Fuck_ , he really was a boring, friendless creature. A boring, friendless creature with shitty grades.

         “Percival!”

          Percival’s head jerked up. Queenie was miraculously walking towards him, as though he had managed to summon her with his thoughts. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was possible. Queenie was so oddly perceptive, she could probably tell if someone at the opposite end of the country was gossiping about her. “Queenie,” he said in relief. “How are you?” Then he noticed that there was someone with her—a slightly rotund guy with a small moustache and a cheerful smile.

          “Great,” Queenie chirped. She slid her arm through the plump guy’s. “Jacob and I are cutting class to go to a pastry shop. The owners are _so_ creative. Their pastries are shaped like animals but not like your typical giraffe or elephant—they look like creatures from a fantasy novel. And they taste superb.”

           “I hope I’ll be able to make pastries as nice as that someday,” Jacob said shyly.

           “Oh, honey, you already do! At the rate I eat them, you’ll have to make double the amount just so you have enough stock on hand.” Queenie turned to Percival, realising that she hadn’t introduced them yet. “Percival, this is Jacob, business student and aspiring baker. Jacob, this is Percival. He’s studying philosophy and political science and plans to become a lawyer.”

           “Nice to meet you, Jacob,” Percival said automatically. He wondered how on earth Queenie had figured out his major when he’d never told her directly, then realised that the explanation was probably a lot simpler than supernatural mind-reading. She was Tina’s sister. Tina had probably told her all about him.

            Jacob’s eyes twinkled. “Can we convince you to cut class and come along too? The more the merrier.”

           “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Percival knew he was unsociable and unfriendly, but he could read situations just fine. This was probably an impromptu, spur-of-the-moment date. Jacob might not look like the type of person a sorority girl typically dated, but he seemed like a nice guy. Queenie deserved a nice guy who made her light up even more than she usually did.

_Great, now everyone but me has someone._

           “Honey, Percival’s a straight-edge, boring guy. He’ll never agree to cut class.” Percival forced a smile at that. “Talk to you next time, Percival!” She and Jacob walked off, still arm-in-arm. Jacob said something to Queenie and she threw back her head and laughed. He could make out the gleam of her teeth.

_I need a drink._

_No you don’t_ , said another voice in his head. _Keep this up and you’re going to become an alcoholic, just like Credence thinks you are._

           Percival shook his head violently, ignoring the strange looks he was getting. He didn’t want to think about Credence.

_I can drink in moderation. I’ll prove it right now. Evidence is everything in a court of law. I just need a small bottle. I’ll stop after I finish it, and even if I want more, I won’t buy it.  Case closed. Not Guilty. Just like that lawyer game Credence likes. Fuck, stop thinking about him. I’m going._

          Mind made up, Percival made his way across campus to the student service centre. There was a small salon, a shop selling trinkets with the university logo printed on them and most importantly, a convenience store. The clerk rang up his purchase without asking for ID. That was the good thing about being in college—even though more than half of the people on campus weren’t legally allowed to drink, it was too much hassle to check everyone. Besides, he was legal. The only thing stopping him from indulging was his fears of becoming an alcoholic, and he wasn’t one. He was going to prove it to himself, once and for all.

          When the first mouthful of alcohol flowed down his throat, he thought he could feel the knot of tension that had taken up residence in his stomach dissolve. He hadn’t even known he had been carrying it around. Suddenly, everything didn’t look as bleak as they had seemed before. Rejected by roommate, wrecking their friendship in the process? No problem. No other friends to talk to? No problem. Shitty grades? No problem. The key was not to take life so seriously, and if alcohol was able to silence that other, irritating voice in his head demanding that he face up to reality, maybe he needed another bottle. He’d been taking life far too seriously for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are idiots but i love them hehehe  
> "Evidence is everything in a court of law" is one of the things prosecutors in Ace Attorney love to say in order to get you to back up your outrageous theories of why Witness X is the true culprit :') i have many bad memories of getting Guilty verdicts because i just couldn't present the right piece of evidence at the right statement.


	7. Chapter 7

        “I can’t believe it took you so long to call.”

      Credence sighed and glanced at the door out of habit. Calling Modesty brought up all sorts of memories—of Percival walking in on them, talking nicely to Modesty even though he had still been a huge grouch back then, and then talking to Credence himself. In a way, he had Modesty to thank for bringing them together in the first place. Not _together_ together, that thought made him flush slightly, but… _argh_. How had he managed to screw up his first real friendship? He wondered if she would be able to work the same miracle twice.

     “I’ve been busy with school.” He held up the half-finished physics worksheet to the camera. “See, I have to finish this by tomorrow’s tutorial, then read thirty pages on—”

      “That’s no excuse!”

     “Well, I have to wait till Percival’s out of the room, right? I don’t want to disturb him.” That was a crappy excuse and a lie, and he knew it. Percival was hardly ever _in_ the room nowadays, meaning he could call Modesty any time he wanted. But she didn’t need to know that.

      “He’s not in?” Modesty looked disappointed. “I wanted to ask if he could come to my party next Sunday. You _are_ coming back for my birthday, right?”

       “Of course, but… what do you mean? You want to invite him?”

      “Yeah. He’s cute, and I want to meet your friends for once. You’ve met all of my friends.”

       “I don’t know if he has time for that…” _I don’t even know if we’re still friends_.

       “Did something happen?”

      Oh, crap. Modesty could be very observant. It was one trait they didn’t share. He supposed even biological siblings weren’t carbon copies of each other. “No, nothing. He’s just very busy with his assignments. Oh, I went to a party the other day.”

      “A _party_!” Fortunately, this diversion tactic worked. Modesty pressed him for details about the party, and he tried to give her a PG-13 version of what to expect at a college party. Then he had to dissuade her from asking their foster parents to let them play a kiddie version of beer pong (with soda and juice instead of beer) and a dance contest. By the time they called out to Modesty to get off the computer and get ready for bed, he was exhausted, but he still had the worksheet to complete and those pages to read. He picked up his pen and tried to focus on the questions in front of him. But just as he had worked out the answer and was about to fill it in, the door banged open.

      Credence couldn’t help it; even though he knew who it was and what to expect, he looked up. Percival was shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook on their door. He watched the muscles under Percival’s arm shift as he moved, briefly wondered what it would feel like to have those arms around him, and shook the thought out of his head. Percival wasn’t the cuddly type, and they were so distant now that even touching Percival’s arm to get his attention would be plain weird. Percival looked at Credence and flashed him a small smile, which he returned. These days, this was the extent of their interactions. But as Percival walked past Credence’s desk to throw his bag on the chair, Credence caught a whiff of something familiar and couldn’t help speaking up.

      “Were you out drinking?”

      Percival froze. A weird combination of emotions—guilt, defiance, maybe even fear—passed over his face as Credence waited for his answer. It wasn’t really that hard a question, and it wasn’t like Credence expected Percival to justify his actions. They weren’t a couple. They might not even be friends anymore. But even acquaintances could make casual conversation with questions like that, right? He tried to diffuse the sudden tension with a throwaway comment. "It doesn’t really matter. All college kids smell like beer. I know I must have reeked of it that night.”

      “You did,” Percival acquiesced. “I can’t believe you didn’t change your bedsheets after sleeping in them in your dirty clothes.”

      “Not all of us are anal-retentive clean freaks.” Credence was so glad they were actually talking again, he babbled on, determined to keep the conversation going as long as he could. “It’s hard to believe we haven’t killed each other yet. People online always said learning to live together with a complete stranger with different habits was difficult. Even best friends might become enemies after living together. But we got used to each other really quickly. After you stopped grumping at me, that is.”

       “I wasn’t grumping at you,” Percival grumped, then realised the irony and smiled.

       “You should smile more often. You look really good when you smile.” Credence’s brain caught up to his mouth a second later, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. _Shit. What did I just say?_

Silence filled the room again. _Fuck. Why isn’t there a save point I can reload from in real life? I keep fucking these things up and now he’s going to remember that kiss and_ —

       “Do you often say and do things you don’t mean?”

       “I—what?”

     “Sometimes I think the reason you have trouble making connections with others is because you say and do things that people misunderstand. It gives them certain…expectations, and when it turns out you don’t mean them—”

      “I said I was sorry!” Credence felt anger bubbling up in his stomach. He knew very well he was a socially awkward recluse. Percival didn’t have to throw it in his face. And what was that about expectations? What did Percival expect from him?

      “If an apology was all it took, we wouldn’t need tribunals to try perpetrators of mass genocide.”

      “How the hell did mass genocide come into this? I usually mean what I say and do.”

      “Did you mean to kiss me, too?”

      “I—” Credence’s first instinct was to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Yes, he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been drunk and his memories of that night were still hazy, but now that he thought about it, the denial had been an instinctive reaction to an embarrassing situation. Did he like Percival that way? You didn’t go around kissing people unless you felt something for them.

    “You don’t have to answer that right away. There’s a lot you need to figure out before you do.” Percival picked up his bag--Credence thought he heard the sound of clinking glass—and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta go. I made plans to study with Newt.”

     The door slammed shut and Credence threw down his pen in frustration. He obviously wasn’t going to get anything done tonight.

* * *

 

    “ _Ah, no, don’t use_ — _FUCK!”_

     The streamer let out a barrage of expletives and Credence joined in, pounding his fist against the table. It was two nights after that disastrous fight with Percival and once again, Credence was holed up in their room while Percival was out avoiding him. They were back to ignoring each other, except Percival didn’t even bother to work in the room anymore. His bed was usually empty when Credence got up and he wasn’t back by the time Credence went to bed. If it weren’t for the changing books and papers on Percival’s desk, Credence would have thought he was staying out all night. Which was fine by him. Percival was an adult. He could drink however much he wanted, go to all the frat parties he wanted, and kiss whomever he wanted. Credence didn’t know why, but the thought of Percival kissing someone else made him feel like punching something, so he tried not to dwell on it too much. He tried to focus on other things instead, like the gradually growing pile of coursework and of course, his games. This particular stream was of a game Credence really liked, and the witty commentary was a plus. The streamer was playing on the highest difficulty level and facing off against the final boss of the entire game, but at the last moment, the boss had used a low-accuracy insta-kill move that unfortunately hit its target and took out the streamer’s character. He would have to go through the entire dungeon again since the game didn’t allow saving before the final battle. Credence shared the streamer’s frustration, and his own frustration with how everything in his life seemed to have gone wrong so quickly made cursing at the screen extremely cathartic. At least Percival wasn’t in the room, so he didn’t have to worry about keeping it down.

    There was a soft knocking sound and at first, Credence thought it was coming from the computer. But the sound persisted even after the streamer said his goodbyes and logged off, promising to resume the stream once he had cleared the dungeon and was back to the boss fight. Nobody had ever visited their room before—Credence didn’t even know who their neighbours were. He swung open the door and found Queenie standing outside.

    “Hello, Credence.” Queenie flashed him a bright smile. “Is Percival in?”

* * *

 

    Seeing Queenie standing outside their room was a little like seeing the Queen standing in line outside a post office or some equally common location. She exuded a brilliance that made the corridor beyond their room seem even more bland and dull. Queenie belonged to the glamorous world of parties and social events, a world that Credence had tried and failed to fit into. Not this place where he curled up alone in front of his computer every night, yelling at people playing games halfway across the world.

     He realised he hadn’t answered her question. “No, I’m not sure where he is.”

    “What time does he usually get back?”

    “Very late. I’m usually asleep by the time he gets back. I’m not sure if you should wait for him…”

     “I think I’d like to, if it’s okay with you. Can I come in?”

     Credence shrugged and gestured her inside. He offered her his seat and watched her look around the room.

     “Very plain, isn’t it?”

     “Yeah,” he admitted. “We’re not very big on decorating.”

     Her eyes lingered on the books and papers on Percival’s desk. “Do you think Percival pushes himself too hard?”

    “Yeah. He was all stressed out when I first met him. I’d never seen someone as grouchy as he was. He drank a lot too. I thought he was a walking stereotype of a disillusioned Philosophy major.”

     Queenie looked sharply at him. “He drank a lot?”

    “Well, not in the room, except for one night when he walked in on me talking to my sister.” Credence smiled slightly at the memory. “And the very first time I met him, when he was moving into the room. But it’s not like he walks around with a bottle glued to his lips. He was sober the night of the party. I was the one drunk out of my mind.”

     Queenie frowned. “Will you promise not to laugh if I tell you something?”

     “I’ll try not to.”

     “The reason I came to your room tonight is because I had a feeling something might be wrong. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m usually pretty good at reading people even without talking to them, and I’ve spoken to Percival before so I think I have a good understanding of his personality. But the last time I saw him, he seemed a bit wound up. I was preoccupied with my own issues so I didn’t pay as close attention to him as I should have, and then today I had a strong feeling that something was wrong and I felt like I needed to see him with my own eyes to make sure he was okay. I know it sounds weird, but I felt just calling him wouldn’t be enough.”

     “Is it your intuition telling you something’s wrong with him?”

     “Something like that. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be in tonight, but I still felt I should come anyway.”

     “I don’t really get it, but I can see it’s important to you. And even if he were in the room tonight, he wouldn’t pick up the phone. He usually turns it off when he gets back. I think he does it on purpose because he doesn’t want people to contact him.”

     “Credence, it may not be my place to say this, but you two need to talk to each other. Back on the day of the dinner, I sensed that you two were close, but now it feels like you’re not as close as before. And I have a feeling this is part of what’s wrong with Percival.”

     “How can you tell all this? It doesn’t make sense.”

      Queenie made a small noise of frustration. “I know it doesn’t. But I just feel it. And I’m right, aren’t I? You two are avoiding each other.”

     Credence didn’t know what to say. Queenie was a nice person, but he could hardly tell her the details of what exactly had led to their estrangement. “Maybe I can call him. Say you’re waiting for him in our room and ask him to come back.”

     “That’s not what I meant by talking, but it would help.”

      Credence reached for his phone, and his heart sank. “Shit. I don’t have his number.”

     “Are you _serious_?”

     “We usually hang out here in the room, so it’s not like we need to call each other…”

    Queenie muttered something under her breath and rested her hand against her cheek, glaring at Credence’s computer. “Sometimes I don’t understand why Percival loves you.”

     “He what?” Credence was sure he’d heard wrongly.

    Queenie froze. A very familiar, deer-in-the-headlights expression was creeping over her face. Credence thought he’d seen a similar expression on Percival’s face the night he’d asked that question about drinking. But he didn’t want to give Queenie an out, the way he’d done for Percival. It was suddenly very important that she answer him. 

   A piercing ring sliced through the air. It was coming from the room phone, which had been silent the whole time Credence had been living here. To be fair, Credence doubted other room phones got much use either, since everybody used their cell phones these days. He couldn’t think of anyone who might call this number.

   Queenie lunged for the phone, grateful for the interruption. Credence watched her expression grow taut as she listened, and then snapped, “Where are you?” When she hung up, she looked haunted. “Percival tried to jump off the archival record building roof.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayylmao (don't worry, it works out in the end, i promise)  
> -Also, the stream Credence was watching is a generic description of pretty much any RPG boss battle, but I had Persona 5 in mind because I've watched boss battles on various difficulty levels and the highest difficulty mode is truly killer. I actually don't know what happens if you lose boss fights in Persona, so I just fudged it.


	8. Chapter 8

       Queenie and Tina shared a car, and Credence was grateful that Queenie had managed to borrow it from Tina tonight, even though Tina was the one who used it more often since she lived off-campus. She must have done that because of that odd sense something was wrong. Well, something _had_ gone awfully wrong, and there was no time to question her weird intuition. Queenie had driven over to their room, and now the two of them piled into the car and drove off to the archival record building. According to Queenie, it was a small building behind the School of Arts and Social Sciences that contained—duh—archives and records of various historical sources, including information about Ilvermorny’s history and its affiliations with other private colleges, some of them based in other countries. Not many people went there, and Credence didn’t even know it existed, but he supposed he had an excuse for that considering he was only a freshman and the School of Computing was at the opposite end of campus. Queenie spoke the whole way there, as though she was trying to calm herself down. She told Credence that Percival himself had called the room, so he couldn’t be that badly hurt. He thought he might have broken his leg and was hoping that they could take him to the university hospital. He had tried to call Newt, but no one had answered and he didn’t know who else to call, so he had called their room knowing Credence would be there. “He said it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

     “He’s right,” Credence admitted. “I’m always in the room. That’s why he stays out when he’s trying to avoid me.” A heavy weight sank into his stomach and he thought he might be sick, but he forced himself to ask the question. “Is he suicidal?” Percival was already stressed about school. Maybe Credence had driven him over the edge with—whatever it was he had done. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done, but it was probably related to that fight they’d had about expectations.

   “He’s not.” Queenie sounded very certain, and ordinarily Credence wouldn’t have trusted the judgment of someone who was barely Percival’s friend—he remembered that Queenie had just barely made the meagre list of Percival’s real life friends, and she’d only been included because she was his friend’s girlfriend’s sister—but he was starting to believe in her intuition. “I think I know what sort of problems he’s having, but it’s not my right to tell you. _Talk to him_. All this angst and UST is driving me crazy. ”

      “I would if he’d stop avoiding me! Wait, what UST?”

      Queenie just sighed.

* * *

 

     The car pulled up outside the main building of the School of Arts and Social Sciences. They would have to go the rest of the way on foot, and Credence hoped for Percival’s sake that the archival building wasn’t too far off. Queenie led him past the entrance, where statues of a bunch of what Credence assumed was famous philosophers or people related to these disciplines stood staring down at people from their little niches above, sheltered by the roof. They ran across the quadrangle through another archway and found themselves in front of a short building with high, curved windows interspersed with brick pillars. Credence found himself taking in the height of the building and feeling secretly glad that of all the buildings Percival could have jumped off, he’d picked this one. Then he realised how terrible that sounded and decided to stop thinking about this until he could ascertain Percival’s wellbeing with his own eyes.

    Queenie led the way down a short path which opened up behind the building. There weren’t any streetlights here, so all he could make out was a dark figure huddled on the ground. They both ran to the figure.

     Credence wasn’t sure what to expect, but except for his left leg, which was twisted underneath him at an unnatural angle, Percival looked perfectly normal. Then he smelled the air around Percival and instinctively wrinkled his nose. Judging by the small, dainty wrinkling of Queenie’s nose, she smelled it too. He struggled to help Percival get to his feet, looking to Queenie for help. But she remained where she was and—wait, was she really walking away from them? “Queenie! I need healing—I mean, help!”

     Queenie didn’t look back. _“Talk to each other!_ I’ll wait for you in the car! _”_

      _For fuck’s sake._ After some shuffling around and grunts of pain from Percival, Credence finally managed to work out a position that didn’t put too much stress on Percival’s injured leg. They began to walk back to the car. One of Percival’s arms was draped around Credence’s shoulders and even though this was _so_ not the time or place, he remembered his wish to feel Percival’s arms around him and blushed slightly. His wish had been granted, albeit in a very twisted way.

    “’I need healing’? Really? _You_ need healing?”

    “It just slipped out,” Credence mumbled. “Do you even know which character I main in that game?”

    “No, but _I’m_ the one with the broken leg. If anyone needs healing, it’s me.”

    “I’m not a healer.”

    “Obviously not.”

    Silence. Credence had a million questions for Percival, but he wasn’t sure which one to start with, or if Percival would even be willing to answer them. But he really needed to know. “Why did you jump off the roof if you aren’t suicidal?”

    Percival looked like he would walk away if he could. He even began to pull away, but when he tried to put weight on his injured leg, his face went pale and he sagged back against Credence in resignation. “I was drunk.”

    “I can smell that.”

    “I thought I’d be able to fly if I had a broomstick with me. Like a witch.”

   “You’re not holding a broomstick.” That was the most civil thing he could say without sounding like a parent picking up his erstwhile son from school after getting a call from an angry teacher— _what on earth were you thinking, are you insane,_ I’m _the one immersed in fictional worlds half the time but you actually thought you’d be able to_ fly—he bit back all these words as he remembered that Percival was drunk. He had no right to lecture Percival on stupid drunken behaviour.

    “It’s back on the ground somewhere. Don’t bother going back to get it. I took it from one of the toilets.”

    “Sounds like a janitor will have some trouble doing their job tomorrow.”

   Percival shrugged, and they trudged on. They were approaching the quadrangle now. Suddenly, Percival broke the silence. “Do you think I have a drinking problem?”

     Credence considered this. “Well, you asked me the same thing a while back and I said probably not, but now I’m not too sure.”

     “I think I might have a drinking problem.”

    Credence blinked. “Oh. I wouldn’t know. I mean, yeah, you did a stupid thing jumping off the roof, but I’m not exactly the king of rationality when I’m drunk either, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it…”

    “I think it’s not a full-fledged problem just yet, but it might get worse if I keep this up. I’ve been so stressed out the past few days and the only way to calm myself was to drink. I feel twitchy and irritable all the time, and all that shit with you made it worse.”

    Credence didn’t know enough about alcoholism to offer advice, but Percival’s words confirmed Queenie’s theory that he was partially responsible for all this. “I didn’t mean to add to your stress. I wanted to talk to you, but you were avoiding me. I thought you were mad at me for what I did that night.”

    “I wasn’t mad about that.” Percival suddenly became very interested in the grass rustling under their feet. “I liked it.”

    “You _did?_ I thought you were mad! I even thought you were scared of me!”

    Percival laughed. “You cause me to feel a lot of emotions, but fear isn’t one of them.”

   “What sort of emotions?” Credence didn’t mean to sound demanding, but the answer to this question seemed very important all of a sudden. Like it might be related to what Queenie had said about UST, angst and love. _Wait, could it be—_

    “Oh yeah, I forgot to ask. What was Queenie doing in our room? I was surprised to hear a female voice on the phone.”

    Credence bit back a sigh. Was Percival a mind-reader too? “She was looking for you. I was going to call and tell you she was waiting for you in our room, but I realised I don’t have your number.”

    “Right… We never did exchange contacts. It’s because I know you’ll always be in the room if I need you. You’re like an NPC programmed to stay in a set location.”

    “Thanks a lot,” Credence said sourly. “I’m glad to hear you think I’m about as interesting as a stationary NPC. Anyway, about the emotions—”

   “Finally,” Percival said in relief. They had reached Queenie’s car. For a moment, Credence considered refusing to help Percival in until he’d elaborated on his previous sentence, but decided that he wasn’t that cruel. He leaned down to open the car door, and Percival was forced to move with him. They were so close together Credence could feel Percival’s breath on his cheek. Then Percival slid into the backseat on his own and Credence stomped to the front passenger seat.

    Queenie didn’t start the car, even after Credence threw himself into the front seat. She looked between the two of them, as though trying to read their minds. Or gauge the mood with her intuition. Credence tried to tamp down his feelings of frustration, in case she thought things had worsened and kicked them out of the car to kiss and make up. He realised, to his surprise, that he wouldn’t mind kissing Percival again. But not with Queenie watching.

    Percival cleared his throat, and Queenie started the car. They drove to the university hospital, where they had to get a queue number and wait their turn to see a doctor and confirm the obvious—that Percival’s leg was broken. While he was off getting X-Rays taken and getting fitted for a cast, Queenie turned to Credence and demanded, “Did you two talk?”

   God, was this what Modesty would be like as a college student? But it _was_ Queenie’s business, sort of. She had picked up on Percival’s stress and now she was here, helping him. Credence couldn’t imagine how things would have gone if he’d been the only one in the room when Percival called. For one thing, he didn’t know where the archival building was, so Percival would probably have spent much longer sitting in the dark. For another, he also didn’t know where the university hospital was. He imagined the two of them driving in circles around campus, Percival getting grumpier and grumpier because his leg hurt, and smiled.

   “Is that supposed to be a yes or no?”

   “What, you can’t read my mind to figure that out?” Queenie shot him a death glare, and he decided not to push her any further. “We talked. He thinks he might have a drinking problem.” Credence hoped he wasn’t betraying Percival’s confidence by telling Queenie, but he thought she might be better equipped to give advice on this.

    Queenie sighed. “At least he’s acknowledged that he has a tendency to turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism. I think he’s not a full-blown alcoholic yet, and he’s strong-willed enough to manage on his own most of the time, but stress causes him to over-indulge.  You,” she pinned Credence with a steely gaze, “are the partial cause of that stress.”

    “I still don’t understand what I did wrong!”

    “Which means he hasn’t told you how he felt. And you haven’t told him how you feel either.” Queenie groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

     “How I feel about him?”

     Queenie didn’t deign to respond to that. She stood up and flounced to the magazine rack in the corner of the room, returning with an outdated tabloid which she pointedly flipped through, ignoring Credence. He remained motionless in his seat, staring at the board that flashed queue numbers, thinking.

* * *

 

     A clacking noise shook Credence out of his thoughts, and Queenie looked up from her magazine. Percival was hobbling over to them on crutches, his left leg encased in a cast. “Did you tell the doctor how you broke your leg?” Queenie asked.

     “Didn’t have to. He said he could smell me from outside the room.” Percival gestured to his pocket. “He gave me a card for alcoholic support groups. I think I’ll hold on to it in case.”

     “You don’t have to deal with stress on your own,” Queenie said softly, as though in response to something Percival hadn’t said. “You have lots of friends who’re willing to listen to your troubles and support you.”

      Percival gave a small snort. “I don’t have friends. If Credence had, for some reason, decided he needed a change of scenery tonight, I would probably be sitting there till morning.”

     “I’ll always be there for you,” Credence said. “Whether it’s attending social events you hate or waiting in the room for you to come back.”

     They stared at each other for a long moment. Queenie broke it by jingling her car keys. “Come along, boys. I’ll send you back to your room. You two have a lot of things to work out.” There was a smile in her voice.

* * *

 

    Queenie stopped the car at the drop-off point closest to their block. Percival thought it was strange that she was in such a good mood--it was nearly two a.m. and she had wasted an entire night playing chauffeur to an idiot who’d broken his leg thinking he could fly. He tried to thank her for her help but she just waved it off, still wearing that little smile. She waited until they had disappeared into the elevators before driving away.

    Credence unlocked the door to their room and held it open for Percival, who hobbled in and sank into the nearest bed with a sigh. He should be drained after the events of tonight, but he had never felt less tired. Pain had a sobering effect; he guessed the persistent ache and general inconvenience of the cast would make it hard for him to sleep for the next six weeks.

   “You’re sitting on my bed,” Credence said.

   “Sorry.” Percival tried to jump to his feet, but only managed to make the bed creak under him as he shifted. God, this was inconvenient. Maybe it would be easier to hole up in the room until the cast could come off. The doctor had instructed him not to move around too much and keep the injured leg elevated, after all. And Credence was always in the room, so he wouldn’t be alone.

    “No, it’s okay. Stay there. There’s something I want to try now that I’m sober.”

    _Now that you’re sober?_ Percival wanted to point out that Credence had only gotten drunk once, but Credence was leaning down, and he couldn’t summon the words. It was just like that night, but Credence had said he was sober. So he was doing this because…?

   When their lips met, it was like coming home after a long, arduous journey at sea. Like all the scattered pieces of his life had seamlessly fitted themselves back together, forming something more beautiful than before. Percival thought he would gladly stay sober for the rest of his life just so he could remember how every kiss with Credence felt. He curled one hand through Credence’s hair and fitted the other around his neck, delighted to learn that Credence’s hair was every bit as soft as he had imagined. He felt the erratic pounding of Credence’s pulse where his hand rested and thought, _he’s enjoying it too, this is real_. Suddenly, he was so glad he hadn’t broken his arm, because he wouldn’t be able to touch Credence that way.

   Percival wasn’t sure who ended the kiss, but one of them must have pulled away, because he found himself looking at Credence’s flushed face. Credence was panting slightly, and he couldn’t seem to look straight at Percival, which was the opposite of how Percival felt. He wanted to stare at Credence and burn this image into his memory. He said the first thing that popped into his mind. “What are you thinking?”

    “I think Queenie’s a very perceptive person who might actually be able to read minds.” This time, Credence met his eyes. “She was right about the UST between us. Well, it’s probably RST by now, even though we can’t do much with your leg like this…”

    “What’s UST? Or RST?” Percival asked blankly, but he got his answer when Credence drew him in for another kiss.

   Things had a strange way of working themselves out (well, with lots of intervention from Queenie). Life as roommates had just gotten significantly more interesting. Percival couldn’t wait for the cast to come off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -"I need healing": This one is so obvious but I don't actually play Overwatch :')  
> Thank you for reading! >< I compiled a  playlist of songs I was listening to while working on this. It turns out that the angsty Mandarin pop songs I used to love as a teenager are great for setting the mood for mutual pining and angst! And of course stuff from Avril Lavigne's early albums and Evanescence's now meme-worthy songs...Can you tell I was very edgy back then. Anyway the link doesn't seem to be working so here's the URL if you're interested https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLW7F4I3Ln6VvUkzkNmoAHwSxaLWi3XKj6


	9. Bonus Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been toying with the idea of trying out smut because I've never done it before in my life (yes, this is Baby's First Smut-Fic), and decided to add this in as a standalone chapter. It's convenient because Percival's leg is broken so that puts a limit on what they can do ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I hope to work my way up to writing proper smut so this is practice. Also, even after I finished writing, I wasn't able to let go of some headcanons so I [drew them out and uploaded them to Tumblr](http://mozaik-roru.tumblr.com/post/163164489368/hello-shameless-self-promotion-i-recently-went) . Thank you for giving this monster borne out of procrastination a chance!

        _This sucks,_ Percival thought. He threw the book he had been ineffectively trying to read for the past half an hour on the floor, half-hoping that the thump it made would distract Credence, but the boy continued to stare at his computer. From his position on the bed, back against the headboard, injured leg propped up by a bunch of extra pillows he had managed to wheedle from the housing office, he couldn’t see what exactly Credence was doing—playing a game, typing out code, watching porn—and he wished he could. Moving pictures on screen would be a pleasant change from page after page of static words. The only good thing about this injury-enforced inertia was that it allowed him to catch up on his readings, but there was only so much information about Hegel’s talk on thesis, synthesis and antithesis he could take in before his mind started wandering. The worst part of it all was that he hated being dependent on people, and having to rely on Credence for simple things like walking across the room to fetch items or going to the bathroom was embarrassing. Credence had been very patient about helping him, tolerating his backsliding into grouchiness just like in the early days of their acquaintance and sometimes trying to distract him with kisses, but he had stopped looking up every time he heard a thump, worried that Percival had fallen over and needed to be helped up. Now he just assumed Percival had thrown some non-breakable object on the ground to vent his anger, and he was absolutely right.

        Correction, the _absolute worst_ part of this injury was when his mind wandered, as it always did, to what he could do with Credence if he wasn’t incapacitated. Not being able to curl up with him, limbs tangled together after kissing each other silly. Not being able to drag Credence off the chair, pin him down on the bed and let their mutual desire do the rest of the work.  Even though it was this injury that had finally tipped the scales, he hated it. He wished the magic, instant healing in Credence’s games applied to real life as well.

       Percival didn’t realise Credence had gotten up until the book he had thrown on the floor was placed on his chest. Credence’s dark eyes glinted with amusement as he stood looking down at Percival. “I’m just picking this up now so you won’t ask me to pick it up for you later.”

       “I threw it down because I didn’t want to read it,” Percival said petulantly, knowing he sounded like a child.

       Credence sighed. “It’s been three days.”

       “I’m going to be stuck like this for six weeks!”

       “No one asked you to jump off the archival building,” Credence pointed out.

       “No one asked for a lecture.” Percival considered throwing the book down again.

      “I’m just stating the obvious.” To Percival’s amazement, Credence didn’t sound frustrated. It was like he had had plenty of practice dealing with stubborn, childish behaviour. Come to think of it, he probably did. His foster sister, Modesty, was both spirited and sassy. Percival had been privy to their interactions and behind the teasing and bickering, he could see they really cared for each other. Credence had probably put up with more than enough sass and wilfulness from her in the six years they had been foster siblings than anything Percival had done in the past three days. “I think you need a distraction.”

       “What, so I’m a child whose attention can be captured by sparkly objects and singing, dancing mascots?”

       "I was thinking of distinctly un-childish distractions.” Credence’s gaze met his, and Percival felt a small jolt in his stomach. There was something different about it, more intense and purposeful than usual. One hand roamed over the baggy fabric of Percival’s shorts—one of the few pairs that he could manage to struggle into—and gave a gentle squeeze.

       “Hey,” Percival protested weakly, but knew his rock-hard erection told a completely different story. Was a single touch all it would take to get him off? “If we make a mess, I’m going to have to go through a lot of trouble to change.”

         “I don’t think there’ll be much to clean up.” Credence patted the uninjured leg gently with his other hand. “Move this a little, will you?”

        Percival had a vague idea of where this was going, and part of him wanted to put a stop to it, in case their activities worsened his injury and caused him to have to wear the cast for another six weeks. He didn’t think he could stand another six hours in the damn thing. But another part of him, the part throbbing in his pants, was screaming at him to _move_. He doubted Credence had had much experience with these things and didn’t want to put pressure on him, especially if something went wrong, but Credence was offering. He would be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this. It took a while, but he managed to shift so that his uninjured leg dangled off the bed while the injured one remained propped up, leaving him spread-eagled and feeling vulnerable. “Don’t you hit that leg.”

          Credence rolled his eyes. “Yes, _sir_. Any other instructions?”

         “Um,” Percival began, about to tell him to stop touching him through his pants before he came and made a huge mess, but Credence was already withdrawing his hand and starting to work at pushing down Percival’s shorts. Percival tried to help by raising his hips off the bed, but he couldn’t stay in that position for long before he needed to sink back down. The repeated bucking motions put all sorts of lewd images in his head, and he could feel himself stiffening again. Credence smirked as though he could read his mind.

         Finally, both his pants and underwear were somewhere around his knees, just above where the cast began. His dick, still hard and erect, curved upwards to his stomach. For a moment, Credence looked at it and hesitated.

          Percival wanted to tell him it was fine, that he could take it slow, but what came out was, “Doubt you can fit this in your mouth.”

          The hesitation was gone in a flash, replaced with determination. “Watch me.”

       Credence didn’t immediately put his mouth over Percival’s dick, but made slow, teasing strokes along his length, bringing him to the edge then just as suddenly pulling back. It was strategic, and most definitely revenge for what Percival had said. He tried to think of the most dull, boring things possible to distract himself from the feather-light touches that caused his already sensitive skin to tingle, but it didn’t work. Hegel’s words were easily chased out by images of Credence _finally_ taking him into his mouth, and the anticipation made him, if possible, even harder. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of this unexpectedly experienced little bastard, but he was reaching his limit. “Credence…”

           The little brat looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence behind his thick glasses. “Yes?”

           _“Hurry.”_

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to choke on your dick.”

            Percival could have throttled him. “You won’t. Just do it. Please.”

           “Ah, the magic word.” Credence’s fingers stopped dancing up and down his dick, replaced by his mouth. The sight of him bent over the most intimate part of Percival’s body, his hair spilling over his shoulders, almost made Percival come right there and then, but Credence pulled him in deeper and he clutched at the sheets, breathing harshly. Vaguely, he wondered why Credence didn’t seem to have a gag reflex. He could feel his tipping point fast approaching. “Credence…”

             “Hmm?” This time, Credence didn’t look up.

             “I’m going to come.” This was supposed to be a warning for Credence to stop. But Credence stayed where he was. It was hard to hear what he was trying to say around the mouthful of cock, but Percival swore he heard something that sounded like a muffled, “Go ahead.” The exact same thought he’d had when he’d first met Credence flitted through his mind. _What a weird boy_. Credence was a bundle of contradictions—usually so reserved and quiet, but able to talk for hours on subjects he was passionate about. He generally behaved like a geeky virgin, but would a geeky virgin know how to do things like this? And of course, there was that inner strength and determination that surfaced at unexpected moments. He was a strong person encased in seemingly weak-looking skin. Or maybe he was both. Credence had shown Percival both his vulnerable and strong side, and he loved him for it.

             It was this thought that finally pushed Percival over the edge. He gripped the sheets so hard he was surprised they didn’t tear, allowing Credence’s name to slide out from between clenched teeth as his body trembled. When his head finally cleared, Credence was sitting in the space between his spread legs, his hair rumpled and his lips coated with Percival’s release. Unlike after they’d first kissed, he wasn’t shy and averting his gaze. Instead, he looked straight at Percival and asked, “Good enough of a distraction?”

             “10/10 would be distracted again,” Percival breathed. “C’mere.”

              Credence looked delighted as he moved closer, bracing his hands on either side of Percival.

              Percival leaned forward to kiss him, tasting himself on Credence’s lips. “I’m so happy I could probably fly off the building for real.”

              “What, and break your other leg?” Credence pulled back, but he was smiling. “You’re on your own if that happens.”

               “Where’d you learn how to do that, anyway?”

           Credence smiled devilishly. “There’s nothing you can’t learn from the Internet.” He scooted off the bed and stretched. “I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”

              Percival shook his head. Credence smiled and put his hand on the doorknob. Just before he left the room, he turned back to Percival, saying casually, “Your pants are still down, you know.” Before Percival could reply, the door slammed shut.

                  _Bastard._


End file.
